Guinevere in Exile
by Mrs. Bonner
Summary: "It occurred to her that she was choosing this road. No one was coaxing her to follow it. No father, brother, knight nor king was pleading with her to take this way or another. Whatever life she built now would be of her own making. Something in the sight of that long open road made her shiver, and her weary heart lifted just a little."
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note: This story is especially for "Another Guest", because she asked me to write something new. This is an unusual story, **__****__**and I am finding the experience of writing it quite satisfying. Please feel free to react to it, if you feel inclined to do so. **_ Reviews are welcome.

_**-Mrs. Bonner**_

* * *

Guinevere walked. The cart was heavy. The sky was heavy. Dawn promised only darkness and heavy rain, as if nature, too, conspired to perpetuate a strange waking nightmare. It was fitting. She only hoped the sky would fall and wash her into oblivion.

In times of terrible grief there is a part of the mind that feels nothing. It remains observant and practical. It requires the most tormented of despairing souls to consider food and sleep and warmth. It is a peculiarity, an irritation, and perhaps also a blessing, for it refuses to allow one to die easily of a broken heart.

A part of Guinevere's mind honestly could not fathom what was happening to her, but the practical, unfeeling part of her mind made her move one foot in front of the other in compliance with the king's order of banishment.

Was this really happening? It was. It was impossible to understand. Where was she going? What would she do with all of these belongings? How far could she walk with the weight of them slowing every step?

_Arthur._ Thinking of him was like a hot knife slashing through her middle. Lancelot was dead and Arthur was lost and the world had turned from joy to sorrow in a single heartbeat. Yesterday was another life. Yesterday was no longer real. It was no longer relevant. All that was now relevant were cobbled stones beneath her feet, threatening to make her stumble if she allowed her mind to wander into the incomprehensible past.

After several miles Guinevere grew tired. She sat down on a rock to rest. New tears stung her eyes while her unfeeling mind babbled. It was her wedding day, she thought. And she did not know where she was going.

"Lady Gwen?"

Gwen looked up into the face of a farmer. He was out of context and she looked at him until recognition finally came to her. "You are William," she finally said.

He smiled and gave a handsome little bow. "The farmer, not the jousting champion – but then you'd know that better than anyone, wouldn't you?" William drew near, his face poorly masking his concern. "Lady, what can you be doing here? Is it not your wedding day? We were walking into Camelot to celebrate your joy." Guinevere then noticed the lovely, obviously pregnant young woman at his side.

Gwen could think of no words for him.

William knelt in the mud before her and met her downcast eyes. "Lady, it seems that destiny has brought an old friend to you on the road today. I can see you are in some sort of trouble. Will you let us offer you whatever comfort we can?"

Guinevere could not think of an answer, but William waited for none. He took Guinevere's hand and placed it into the young woman's. "This is Eliza," he said simply. Then he took Guinevere's cart and began to pull, quickly leaving the main road for a narrower one that led toward the sheltering woods near the river. Eliza held on gently to Guinevere's hand and led the almost-queen behind the farmer and the cart.

A powerful balm is kindness. And angels often come unrecognized. Guinevere allowed herself to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

By afternoon the rain was coming down in sheets and wind shook the little cottage, but inside it was dry and the fire was warm. Gwen sat beside the hearth, mostly looking into the flames. She knew she should be walking, putting distance between herself and Camelot. After what she had done, was this storm not a fitting place for her?

But in this wind and rain, how far could she go? And if the storm killed her, then Arthur would hear of it. Much as she might have welcomed the idea of ceasing to exist at that moment, she didn't want to break his heart yet again. _"I don't want to see you dead, Guinevere_," he'd said. _"But I don't want to see you." _She had to make this journey away.

She was weak. William had come, and she had needed his help. So she sat by his fire, waiting for whatever came next, but not caring.

Eliza took the cup from her hands, refilled it with warm broth, and returned it with a shy smile.

"Thank you," said Gwen.

William had gone out shortly after their arrival at the cottage, and before the storm had commenced. Eliza did not seem worried about her husband, so, in spite of the violence of the storm, Gwen didn't worry either.

It had been several years since William had pretended to be "Sir William if Deira" on behalf of Prince Arthur at a certain jousting tournament. Guinevere, unhappy as she was, could scarcely believe the change that had come over the man. Farmer or not, he walked as Arthur had once taught him, with head held high and shoulders straight. He met one's eyes with a piercing gaze. He spoke directly and with assurance. He was quite well-groomed and, indeed, one of the handsomest farmers she had met in all her days. Had this transformation somehow been a result of William's brief interaction with Arthur?

Now William was married to this quiet, angelic Eliza. He was a father of two children, and was expecting his third. (Their little ones, along with Eliza's younger sister, happened to be away visiting William's parents in a nearby village.) He seemed to be providing well for his family. And his eyes (as well as his wife's) shined with contentment. It was easy to see that this little home was a place of peace and genuine happiness. Good for William. Good for Eliza.

The firelight played tricks on her eyes. It gave her visions.

Lancelot. He'd lived for her, died for her, and lived again. Had his strange power over death cast some kind of intractable spell over her? Had she lost her mind? Had she always been in love with him? Had she cursed herself long ago with her own powerful but rash words? _"As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade." _But feelings do not absolve actions. Feelings come and go, but actions are choices.

And she loved Arthur. She had chosen Arthur.

But actions are choices.

Lancelot was dead again. He'd taken his own life. What strange evil had come to taint all virtue and destroy all joy? It was unfathomable. All was lost because of her weakness, her foolishness, her blindness. All was lost.

The wind rose up in pitch for a long while.

Before sunset William returned to the cottage, soaking wet but smiling with confidence. He had brought with him another man – tall, in his 30's, handsome but for the water that completely inundated all hair and clothing. Eliza set about drying both of the men off and filling their bellies with warm, hearty stew.

"My lady," said William, "This is my cousin Daniel."

Gwen greeted the man courteously, and received in return a quiet bow.

"Daniel is about to journey to Estlyn, a small village about 35 miles southeast of here," said William. "He must deliver a horse. I have asked him, and he would be happy to see you safely there, if you would like to travel with him. He's a good man, and you'd be safe with him."

Gwen looked at Daniel questioningly. He gave her a slightly sheepish smile. "I was planning on leaving when the storm breaks," he said simply. "You'd be most welcome to travel with me, ma'am."

It didn't take long to decide. Gwen recognized this was a good offer and she was grateful for it. She discussed the matter with William and Eliza and Daniel a bit more, and then agreed thankfully. It was decided that Gwen would leave her cart and many of her household items here with her new friends, with the understanding that she might send for some items at a later date.

In her heart, Gwen felt unexpected relief at being allowed to leave her things behind. If she must live on, she wanted to leave her old life behind completely. Her hopes had died. She would try to bury the past. Resurrecting it boded only pain that, however deserved, might prove unbearable.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometime in the night the storm gave up its howling, and Guinevere ran out of silent tears. Stretched out on one of the absent children's cots, wrapped up warm in soft blankets, she sensed the world growing quiet, and with it she slept.

Morning found her astride a lovely young white mare, following the man called Daniel who was riding an older sturdy brown. All traces of bad weather had blown away, leaving the first crisp chill of Autumn and bright daylight.

After only a quarter hour or so of riding they crested the hill path that led away from the villages and toward the central crossroads. From their vantage point at the top Gwen could see the road they would be taking. It stretched south through a wide, verdant valley and then, in the distance, it curved around and into the gently sloping foothills. She paused for a moment, gazing at it.

It occurred to her that she was _choosing_ this road. No one was coaxing her to follow it. No father nor brother nor knight nor king was pleading with her to take this way or another. She was free to choose her fate – perhaps in a way she had never chosen before. Whatever life she built now would be of her own making. Something in the sight of that long open road made her shiver, and her weary heart lifted just a little bit.

"I won't ask you questions, ma'am," said Daniel, after their second hour of riding side by side. "But I suspect if I don't say something now and then, you'll wonder if I'm in a foul mood or some such thing. I'm not. Sometimes the quiet suits me. But feel free to talk if you like. Or not. It's all fine."

Guinevere, in spite of everything, smiled slightly. She appreciated this man's obvious respect of her privacy, and she also appreciated his willingness to smooth over her awkward silence. If he knew anything of the terrible reason for her banishment he made no sign of it.

"Thank you, Daniel," she said.

He flashed her a genuine smile, and then turned his attention forward and simply rode on.

Guinevere's eyes seemed newly open. She noticed the colors of the green fields and the heather-covered hills. She noticed the vivid blue of the sky. She pondered the shapes of the tiny wisps of clouds that rode high in the mostly clear expanse above her. She considered the shapes of the little weed blossoms that would cast off their seed petals in the slightest breeze. All of this, she took in. It somehow seemed to feed her weary heart.

In the early afternoon they found a peaceful clearing near a little stream, and there they stopped to rest and drink and eat. It was then that Guinevere noticed something about her traveling companion: Daniel clearly loved both of these horses. She could tell in the way that he saw to their comfort and spoke quietly into their ears and stroked their faces. They were both obviously very dear to him. She wondered which one he would be giving away, and why.

But she did not ask. She liked the wordless companionship they had formed, and she wasn't yet willing to change it.

Daniel was nearly six feet tall with short, dark, wavy hair. When they had embarked that morning he'd been clean-shaven, but his angular face was already forming a surprisingly appealing shadow of stubble. His eyes were brown, and his eyebrows were dark and bushy and expressive. He wore an ivory-hued homespun shirt with loose sleeves, and over this he wore a dark leather vest. His hands were worn enough to suggest that he spent at least a portion of his time in farming or some other form of husbandry. He had a capable and serious look about him, an easy smile, and a gentle way with the horses. And underneath it all, Guinevere sensed a depth about him. By his looks, he was likely in his early thirties, but sometimes a look in his eyes made him seem much older.

After sharing a pleasant meal of Eliza's still-fresh bread and some good sharp cheese, they mounted again, returned to the road, and rode on.

As the sun made its long journey across the sky toward the west, Gwen began thinking back again. Her whole heart ached. She wanted to make sense of it. She needed to. But it was all too fresh. It felt exactly like the terrible day long ago when her father had been taken from her. She'd tried and tried then to make sense of it, to understand it, but understanding was not possible. It never really became possible to understand, either. In time the fact of what had happened simply _was. _In time, she simply came to accept it.Getting from the point of loss to the acceptance had been its own long, lonely journey – a journey which entailed enduring the constant bleeding of her heart and mind until slowly she'd learned how to carry on.

She thought back now on that time. How had she survived losing her father? Her friends had been there for her, but they'd not been able to do much to stop the pain. Merlin had insisted on watching over her. He'd made her sleep in his room so that he or Gaius could keep her from being alone those first few days. The memory warmed her heart. How she would miss him. Morgana had tried to champion her, and then had mourned bitterly with her. Whatever Morgana's dark destiny had been, the tears they had shed together in those days were real enough. This memory, too, touched her. And another great kindness had been done: Prince Arthur had quietly purchased her house for her.

_Arthur._ More tears. She was growing sick of them.

She caught Daniel stealing a concerned glance at her, and was suddenly mortified at her lack of composure. She resolved to pull herself together immediately. But it proved difficult. At last, after failing to stop crying, she laughed.

"You must forgive me, Daniel" she said with an ironic shake of her head. "I seem unable to keep my wits about me. You must think me rather a ninny!"

Daniel smiled at her, but his eyes were full of understanding. "Fear not, lady. We are, all of us, brought down with our own sorrows from time to time. I'll not begrudge you yours, and trust you'll allow me mine in their time. Without sorrow, I think we'd know not our joy. When it comes, that is."

Gwen felt the truth in every word he said. "Thank you for your understanding," she whispered.

They camped a little way off the road in a glade of spruce trees. Daniel built a fire and saw to it that Gwen was kept warm. He watched to ensure that she ate and drank enough to keep her strength. He watched until she lay down near the fire and wrapped in her blankets and grew still. Then he went over to his horses and sang a lullaby to them as he brushed their fur. But perhaps he was also singing it for Guinevere.

"_Hush-a-by. Don't you cry. Go to sleep my little baby. _

_When you wake you shall have all the pretty little horses. _

_Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, riding in the night. _

_When you wake you shall have all the pretty little horses."_

His voice filled the darkness with a quiet reassurance that she was not alone. She was indeed far from home. She was bereft and soul-sick and guilty and unhappy. But she was warm and fed and safe. She was under a strange and beautiful sky filled with innumerable stars. And she was not alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning dawned chilly and bright. Over a companionable breakfast, Daniel outlined his plan for the day ahead.

"My destination is a small farm about seven miles this side of Estlyn town. It lies about nine or ten miles from where we are now. With your permission, I would like to go to this place first. Once my business is complete there, I will see you safely into Estlyn. Then tomorrow, once I know you are safely settled, I will begin my return to Camelot."

"Thank you, Daniel," said Gwen quite sincerely. "I am very grateful for your help and your company these past two days."

"It is nothing, my lady," he said with an easy smile.

They talked little as they rode through the morning. The land was hilly and green. The skies above remained clear.

She was fascinated to see hawks minding the skies, regally watching all that passed below. "Oh, to be a bird," thought Gwen. "To soar free of earth's troubles - to circle and float like that - how heavenly that must be."

At mid-day they stopped to rest and eat under the shade of a tree.

"We're nearly there," said Daniel. "Another hour's ride should see us to the farm."

He smiled at Gwen, but his eyes seemed surprisingly sad, and he went over to tend the white mare. He lovingly brushed every inch of her coat, stroked her horsey face, spoke into her ear, and put his arms around her neck. So, as they soon rode on, Gwen knew that this was the horse from which he would soon be parting.

True to Daniel's word, an hour later they crested a hill and saw below them a farmhouse, a few outbuildings, and several fields. They rode down the hill toward the house, and as they approached they were met by two middle-sized barking hounds.

"Goliath! Well met, you little menace," Daniel said affectionately. "And and Barabas, you're no pup now, are you?" He turned in his saddle and addressed Gwen. "Don't worry," he said. "They won't harm you."

She nodded at him thankfully, and as they reached the farmhouse she followed his example and dismounted. The dogs raced about them barking, but did not jump or paw the travelers. Daniel petted each of them vigorously in turn.

The farmhouse door opened and a middle-aged woman with graying hair stepped outside to shout at the dogs. They heeded the woman's voice and ran into the house.

"Well, you came," said the woman rather sourly. "And who is this you've brought with you?"

"Mother Rose, this is Gwen. My cousin William asked me to see her from Camelot to Estlyn for him, as I was coming this way."

Guinevere curtseyed respectfully to the woman.

"Hmph," said Mother Rose.

"I've brought a good horse for James," said Daniel politely. He seemed to be expecting no better reception than the one he was getting from this rather curt woman.

"James and his mother are in the barn. I'm up to my elbows in apples, so you'll have to go find them yourself." The woman tipped her head toward one of the outbuildings and then turned, went back inside the house, and shut the door.

"This way, then," said Daniel. He took the reins of both horses and led the way to the building Mother Rose had indicated, then wound the reins around a fence post and pulled open a large wooden door. "James? Sarah? Are you here?" He stepped into the dimly lit, pungent air of the barn, and Guinevere followed. To one side of the little barn there was an empty sheep pen (the animals that dwelt there must have been out grazing), and to the other side stood two cows in a stable which opened out into a paddock. A woman was milking one of the animals while a boy aged about 10 years worked with a broom to sweep the area clean.

"Hello Sarah," said Daniel. "Hello James. How you've grown!"

The boy turned around in surprise. "Father?" he said.

"Well, look who's here," said the woman, standing up and facing them.

"Here I am," said Daniel a little awkwardly. "I've brought a very good horse for James," he faltered a little as the woman drew closer, "As we discussed last year."

The woman called Sarah wasn't smiling, but at least she didn't scowl at the travelers as Mother Rose had. She had a stern face that certainly held its share of beauty, even though it was smudged slightly from her work. Her hair was a bit tousled, but it was the color of honey. At twenty she must have been quite ravishing, and now at 30 her fine face's only real fault seemed to be her easy frown.

The boy eyed his mother hesitantly, as if searching for permission. The woman shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head, as if she were resigned to an unpleasant duty. The boy then ran to Daniel and put his arms around his waist, and Daniel responded with a fervent hug.

Something about this sight suddenly made Guinevere's throat want to tighten and her eyes to sting. She averted her gaze to provide the moment a little privacy.

"Who are you?" asked the boy, looking up at her from his father's side.

"This woman is Gwen. Your uncle William asked me to see her to Estlyn town, since I was riding this way."

Gwen noticed the careful way in which Daniel had now twice introduced her. There could be little mistake that he intended no other relationship than acquaintance to be assumed between them. "Gwen, this is Sarah."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," said Gwen with a little bow.

Sarah still did not even pretend to smile, but nodded dutifully with the appropriate return gesture.

"Would you like to see your horse?" Daniel's eyes sparkled as he now knelt and looked into his son's smiling face.

"Yes!" said James. So Daniel led the boy out the door through which he had just entered, and the women followed after.

"I brought you a mare, lad. She's the best mare I've ever had. I raised her from a pony and trained her up smart, just for you. She's gentle and fast and strong. I named her Hope. And I hope you like her." As he spoke, Daniel drew the snowy white beast forward and helped place his son's hand on her velvety nose.

The boy's eyes were round with wonder, and his face shone with excitement.

"That's a fine animal," said Sarah softly, almost to herself.

"Yes," returned Gwen. "I've seen few finer."

They watched as Daniel gave the boy some vital tips for handling the horse. He explained how to keep from being stepped on and how to help the mare understand his commands. Then, after a few minutes, he lifted the boy astride and walked her around the pasture. Finally, taking a deep breath, he handed the boy the reins and stepped back to watch. The boy seemed to have some riding experience, and soon he and the horse were getting to know each other as they made their way around the farm's fields.

"I suspect you'll be hungry before long," said Sarah simply. "Let's get into the house and I'll see to some supper for us all." She picked up her milking pail and led them back toward the farmhouse, obviously satisfied that her son James knew what he was doing and was in no danger.

It was an uncomfortable afternoon. Sarah's father (James' grandfather) arrived from the fields and seemed no more pleased to see Daniel than Mother Rose had been. Words were exchanged with propriety but without any trace of warmth. A good meal was served, but only James (looking red-cheeked and elated after his ride) seemed pleased that Daniel was at the table.

Daniel promised to send winter provisions for the horse from Estlyn upon his arrival there. He explained that by next summer the mare would be old enough for breeding, and that he hoped they'd be able have a few colts born before long.

When the meal was over Daniel asked permission to take a walk with James. Permission was grudgingly granted. Gwen excused herself and found a place to sit outside, so that she might not further burden the family with the constant need to treat her civilly as a guest.

After an hour of Daniel and James walking about the farm, the boy returned to ride his new horse, and Daniel walked for a while with Sarah. Gwen watched from a distance as Daniel tried to take Sarah's hand, but she did not allow it. She watched Sarah shake her head solemnly many times during the conversation. She saw Daniel's shoulders seem to sag slightly as he and Sarah walked back to the farmhouse.

Goodbyes were said. No invitations to stay the night were made. Daniel praised and hugged his son, then asked Gwen to ride the brown horse and allow him to walk. Sarah, Mama Rose and James' grandfather stood watching them leave for a few minutes, then went back into the house. Young James watched them leave the little valley from the back of his new mare, shouting "Goodbye father!" at least a hundred times before the travelers crested the surrounding hill and disappeared from the lad's sight.

Daniel walked the first mile leading the horse while Gwen rode alone. His face was hidden from her, and he didn't speak, but Gwen did notice the heaviness of his sighs. Her heart went out to him.

"You must be growing tired," said Gwen at last. "Please, ride with me, Daniel."

Daniel turned, and she spied a redness in his eyes as he climbed up to ride in front.

Guinevere was obliged to put her arms around Daniel's waist as they rode. After a few minutes she wordlessly hugged him tightly around his chest. He did not look back nor speak nor stop her, but instead pulled her arms tightly against him with one of his own.

They rode together thus for many miles, until, at sunset, they reached the edge of Estlyn.


	5. Chapter 5

They opted to camp again rather than arrive in Estlyn town after nightfall. Both seemed content to speak little. On this night Daniel seemed more preoccupied that the last, and Gwen, understanding, saw to it that supper was made and the fire was tended. Later, when she laid down to rest, she stared at the vast expanse of stars above and prayed for Daniel. It was all she could do for him. Her concern for his heartbreak actually made her briefly forget her own, but she did not consciously reflect upon that fact.

"I know a weaver in Estlyn," said Daniel the next morning as they rode into town. "She keeps sheep and makes good cloth. She might be inclined to take you in, if things are as they were when I saw her last. Would you like to meet her?"

Guinevere was grateful. With the rising of the sun that morning she had begun to twist inside with anxiety. She hadn't any idea what she would do upon arriving in Estlyn. "Yes, I would," she said. And it was settled.

They began to pass houses and shops along the main road, and then they rounded a corner into the town proper. It was a clean, tidy, industrious-looking place. At this early hour a few people could be seen opening businesses and carrying goods. It felt as if Estlyn itself was yawning, rubbing it's eyes and bidding them good morning. The town square was adorned with fresh-looking banners of blue and gold, and many a window-ledge on shops and houses bore cheery potted flowers. Something about this attention to beauty boded well to Guinevere. Somehow, it made her feel almost hopeful.

They turned off of the main road and travelled down a lane that led east and wound up over a hill. After a half-mile or so of slightly steep climbing the road bent sharply to the south and then they arrived at a large farmhouse half-surrounded by ancient trees and overlooking a lush green valley where sheep grazed lazily. All of the house windows were adorned with flower pots and herb gardens, and vegetables grew to the left of the front walkway. The wood of the large structure looked dark, solid and ancient, and a column of smoke puffed cheerily from the chimney above.

"Eilonwy lives here," said Daniel. "Let's see if she's up and about, shall we?" He dismounted and helped Gwen down, and the two of them walked together down the footpath to the house's great oak doors. Daniel smiled reassuringly at her, winked, and then loudly made use of the door's ancient-looking iron knocker.

For a moment nothing happened, and then suddenly the door opened and everything happened at once. A woman no taller than Gwen, with much thick white hair bound neatly about her head, stood in the doorway laughing and then hugging Daniel. She wore a skirt of rich maroon and a much-embroidered vest of dark blue, with shirt sleeves of delicate, soft, rose-colored linen. She looked a bit magical in all of that color, and energy seemed to shine from her like rays from the sun. "Daniel! I'm so happy to see you! Look at you, so tall and sturdy and handsome. It's been two years if it's been a day – and you've come to make me laugh again. And you've brought a friend! I'm Eilonwy, my dear. So happy to meet you. Come inside, both of you. Come sit by the fire and light up the room with good company. When I woke this morning I knew it would be a good day, and now I know why."

When they were seated by the hearth in this cheery, spacious, well-kept place, Daniel was obliged to explain his errand to Estlyn, and he did so factually. Eilonwy seemed able to read between the lines – Gwen could see it in the lady's eyes - and she listened surprisingly well for one who had said so much upon the simple occasion of opening the door. When he was finished speaking the lady sighed and said, "You're a good man, Daniel. A good man. You've done a good thing for your boy, lad. He'll remember it all his life." She reached over and squeezed his knee reassuringly, then turned to Gwen. "And who are you, my dear? What brings you to Estlyn?"

Gwen considered. She didn't want to be known here as the king's disgraced lady. She wanted to be known very little at all, in fact. But she needed to present herself. She thought fast and looked at Daniel. He looked back at her curiously and waited, eyebrows up and with a little smile. It seemed he would allow her to represent herself in whatever way she chose. _Bless him, _she thought. "Please call me Genevieve. Or Jen. I've come from up north. Daniel was good enough to allow me to travel with him. I'd like to find work in Estlyn and perhaps make my home here. Perhaps."

"My dear girl, that's a long way you've come. Haven't you any people of your own?" Eilonwy's eyes were full of concern.

"None," said Gwen. "Not anymore."

"I see," said the lady, nodding at her seriously. Gwen wondered exactly how much this wise lady _could _see, and felt a little like shrinking from her view.

"Well, Genevieve," said Eilonwy, "What are your skills?"

Gwen mentioned housekeeping, cooking, mending and sewing.

"Ah, if you can sew, I might have work for you. I keep a girl, Elaine, to help me with the weaving, but lately there's more work than we can do, which keeps us from the sewing that I want done. I could use someone good at stitching to help us turn cloth into shirts and jackets to sell at market. I won't make you rich, but I'll pay fair and you'll have room and board. Would you be interested?"

Gwen's heart leaped. "Oh ma'am, I'd be very grateful."

"Well, then we'll give it a try, and if it works out then we'll keep you on here. Daniel wouldn't have brought you here if he thought you'd be trouble. I'm sure of that."

Daniel was grinning.

They sat together then, the three of them sipping tea as Daniel and Eilonwy caught up on two years' of living. Gwen only listened, taking everything in, feeling safe.

An hour later Daniel drew the conversation to a close, explaining his need to do several errands in Estlyn before his return north. Eilonwy stood and hugged him tightly as any doting grandmother ever clutched a beloved grandchild, and said farewell. Then, as the lady went to prepare a room for her, Gwen followed Daniel outside to where they'd left the horse grazing. Within minutes they had unpacked her few belongings from the saddlebags. And with that, they both realized that they were parting. They stood looking at one another.

"Daniel, how can I thank you? You have carried me through the darkest days I have known in all my life."

"If I have had the honor of assisting you, I count myself lucky," he said softly. She saw sincerity in his gentle smile. He reached over and took her hand, a bit of melancholy returning to his eyes. "Know that your company, too, has been a kindness to me on a lonely journey."

She squeezed his hand, feeling touched at his words and sad at the thought that soon he would be gone.

He looked thoughtful, and then spoke. "I can't promise that the pain will go away. I can't promise that in a day or a season or a year you will wake up smiling and it will all be as if sorrows never happened. But I can promise this: You can build a life. You can live. And you can love. In fact, you must." He reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek. "Begin by loving yourself." And with that he gently placed on her forehead a kiss.

Gwen again found herself with no words, but Daniel again expected none. He smiled, winked at her, and climbed astride. "Goodbye lady," he said. And then he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Thus, Guinevere began to spend her days sewing in a large sunlit workroom. Two looms stood in opposite sides of the room, and daily Gwen sat at the table between them, making shirts, jackets, breeches, vests, and sometimes even dresses.

Every day the matronly Eilonwy would come and go to the loom at Gwen's left. With so many demands on the lady's time (she managed not only the weaving but the shepherds and farm hands as well), she sat at the loom only sporadically, but her fingers were like lightening and her efforts were rewarded with yard after yard of good cloth.

Always seated at the loom on Gwen's right was Elaine. The girl was younger than Gwen by about five years. Her hair was long and thick and red-gold, and she wore it pinned behind her like a shimmering halo. Her eyes were green as summer and her skin was pale as milk. The girl seemed a bit shy at first, but her shyness did not keep her from singing as she worked, weaving colors into magnificent patterns day after day.

Gwen, full of secrets, was reticent to give more than generalities about her previous life. She concentrated, instead, on listening to Elaine, and asking the girl questions when she wasn't singing. From Elaine Gwen learned that Eilonwy had lived on this farm for over forty years, since the days when she'd been a young bride. The lady had lost her husband to a sickness over twenty-five years earlier, and had managed all on her own since that time.

Gwen also learned that Elaine had been born not far from Camelot. She'd been raised on an island on the river that ran down to Camelot. (Gwen knew well the tall grey place set amid fields of barley, but was not familiar with the family.) As a girl, Elaine had learned the art of weaving from her mother. As a maid she had been brought to Estlyn in search of refuge from the many turbulences that had been taking place around the time of King Uther's death. She had been sent to this particular place specifically because Eilonwy was Elaine's great-aunt.

The days were long for Gwen. Hour after hour of quiet work left her ample time to pine for all that had been lost. And by night, alone in her little room, there was no distraction at all to save her. She could think of none but Arthur. She removed his ring from her finger on her first day of work and placed it on a cord around her neck, for how could she bear the sight of it on her hands as she sewed? But at night she held it, missing Arthur's own hands, his arms, and the smell of him. It was then that his crushed, angry eyes haunted her most. _How long?_she wondered. How long would her heart burn as if its very flesh were on fire? This, she understood, was the unquenchable flames of hell. She was grimly surprised at her dark discovery: hell's gates are open to the souls of the living as well as the dead.

Days went by, and Gwen and Elaine grew more familiar. A gentle trust grew between them, and, little by little, Elaine lowered her guard and shared her secrets. She loved a man - someone who had once lived in Estlyn. She longed for his return. She did not name him. They'd had no understanding, Elaine and this man, but she thought he cared for her. He'd told her he hoped to return some day. After almost two years her thoughts still turned to him. Surely this was love.

Gwen pondered Elaine's quandary. Arthur had never let her wonder long whether he loved her. His eyes had always told her all, unbidden. Year after year he had loved in secret, loved in denial, loved in defiance, loved in despair. And she knew always. Whether he tried to hide his eyes from her, or to speak to her silently through them, she knew. Sometimes she had defied those eyes. Sometimes she had hid or run from them. And sometimes her own had tried to speak to him in return. But always she knew. What would it be like to wonder if the one you loved ever thought of you? Perhaps only now was Gwen learning such a notion. Would Arthur ever think of her now?

Elaine told how it had all begun. The man had been summoned to Estlyn the year before King Uther's death. There had been a scourge of bandits in the area, and Estlyn's losses had been terrible. The leaders of the town hired this man, a fighter, to assist them in fortifying the village. He had stayed here, on this very farm. Elaine had seen him every day, talked with him, listened to him, helped him as she could. He'd been brilliant at his work, and since his coming all bandits had abandoned Estlyn completely. Then this handsome fighter recieved a letter one day, and abruptly said he had to leave. He'd said he hoped to return. He kissed Elaine's cheek and thanked her for her kindness. He promised he'd remember her. And on the day he left he wore a shirt she'd woven especially for him.

He'd gone on to serve the king. And they'd heard very little of him since.

Gwen watched how poor Elaine's face radiated as she spoke of this man. It had been almost two years without word. What kept her holding onto hope?

* * *

On Sundays there was no work. On those days Gwen and Elaine walked into the town square together. The autumn had proven mild and the sun shone as they walked. Elaine introduced Gwen to several acquaintances, and the girls chatted with certain young men who happened to be about. Perhaps these Sunday strolls were how the young people of Estlyn kept track of one another.

"We're going to pick some apples tonight, Elaine. Come with us." Paul was scarcely older than Elaine. Gwen could see easily that he and his friends were hands from one of the local farms. "Everyone's going. Farmer Adam has a bumper crop this year, and he said he wouldn't miss a few, as long as we don't trample his squash on the way in and out. It'll be fun."

Elaine hesitated. Gwen wondered how she had the heart to disappoint such an earnest lad. He was clearly smitten with her. It showed in the way he stumbled over a rock in the road and then blushed as he did his asking. "I'll think about it," Elaine said. "Thanks for asking. Maybe."

When the boys had gone on their way, Gwen asked about Paul.

"He's a sweet boy," said Elaine. "He's really very nice. But I don't think of him that way. How can I? In my heart there is another. If I go pick apples tonight, I know I'll be leading him on. I don't want to do that. I don't want him to get hurt. But it feels nice that he would ask."

"How long will you wait for this fighter of yours?" asked Gwen. "What if he doesn't come back?"

Elaine was thoughtful. "I heard a story once," she said. "Once upon a time there was a princess who was sent to marry a monster. On her wedding night she learned that the monster was a wonderful, kind man under an enchantment, and she soon fell in love with him. The monster man promised that if she could keep a certain secret the enchantment would be broken. But the princess forgot the secret and it slipped out, and the monster man suffered terribly because of it. After her betrayal he left, and the princess heard nothing from him for a year and a day. The princess' friends and parents told her to come home and forget her monster husband, but she could not. That day she went to the blacksmith and bought from him three pairs of iron shoes. She put the first pair of shoes on her feet and began searching the world for her husband. When she had searched so far that the first pair of iron shoes had worn away to nothing, she put on the second pair and continued searching. And when the second pair had worn away she put on the third. The day that the third pair of shoes had worn away, the princess found her husband at the top of a mountain. 'I've found you at last,' she said. He tried to run from her, but she grabbed hold of him and wouldn't let go, no matter how he struggled. And suddenly the struggling stopped and the spell was broken, and there stood her husband, free of the enchantment and with eyes full of love. And they returned home together and lived happily ever after."

Elaine told the story with such feeling, and with such yearning, that it brought a lump into Gwen's throat.

"I want love to be like that," said Elaine. "I want love to be forever. If I give up on loving him, then I'll prove that my love is temporary. That it's conditional. I don't want love to be like that. I want to love forever. Would I be a fool for choosing that?"

Gwen honestly didn't know. She only knew what she saw: this beautiful young woman spent her days in seclusion at a loom, loving a man who might never return, and refusing to take a fuller part in the life around her becuae she didn't want to give up on him. Was that foolish?

The question rang and echoed through Gwen's cavernous, bereft heart. "Would I be a fool for choosing that? Would I be a fool for choosing that? Would I be a fool for choosing that?"

* * *

On the third day of Gwen's third week in Estlyn, Eilonwy entered the workroom and came to sit between Gwen at the table and Elaine at the loom. This was unusual. Usually, Eilonwy spoke to the girls as she worked her own loom. On this day something was different.

"I just received some terrible news. From Camelot."

Elaine, for the first time Gwen could remember, stopped weaving and sat perfectly still.

"The king has broken off his engagement."

Gwen's heart stopped.

"Again?" asked Elaine. "He was betrothed once before to Princess Elena, and broke it off."

"Yes," said Eilonwy. "He has broken his engagement again, but that is not what I have come to tell you. It is very serious, and a truly terrible thing has happened. The Lady Guinevere has been banished for a treasonous liason with one of the king's knights, and..."

Elaine, if it were possible, grew paler.

"And that knight, when it was made known, took his own life."

Elaine's childlike eyes peered at the older Eilonwy in wide circles, and the girl did not breathe. Eilonwy reached over and took the girl's hand.

"You must hear it," said Eilonwy. "Oh my dear," the lady's eyes filled with tears. "Elaine, I'm so sorry. The knight who took his own life was Lancelot."

Elaine sat still as marble. Still as ice. "My Lance?" she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

The correspondence between Lancelot and Guinivere had been only sporadic, and had taken place over a period of several years:

_Sweet Gwen,_

_I write this letter from the Inn at South Bend. I see from my window a blacksmith shop, and it reminds me of carefree days long ago spent with you._

_I left you in the forest a few nights ago without saying goodbye, and the thought that my actions might have injured you has haunted me. I do not deserve your forgiveness, yet I feel compelled to ask for it. I do not doubt your gentle heart will readily grant absolution. While it is unlikely that I will have the honor of seeing you again, will you please grant me pardon for my grave discourtesy?_

_I asked Merlin to give you a message. I have no doubt that he delivered it, but I will try, at least, to make some small restitution by explaining more fully what was meant._

_Some things cannot be. In one night both of our lives were bought for us by a better man than me. I cannot hope to match him in honor, nor can I begin to provide for you all that you deserve, and I know he can. I want that for you, and I believe I saw in his eyes the one thing I wish for you above all._

_You have changed me forever. Please know this, for now it means everything. I cringe to know the waste you saw me making of my life. Your eyes peered up at me from a dungeon cell, yet I saw reflected in them the prison I had made for myself. My poor attempt to aid you was nothing to the rescue you provided me with your words and your gentle touch. Sweet lady, how can I thank you?_

_I asked you once to live for me, but now I charge myself to live only for you. Our lives will be spent apart. You will not know my deeds, but I solemnly swear that all of them will honor you. My strength will be dedicated to helping the weak. My memory of you will bring hope to those who would otherwise despair. Wherever I can sow seeds of justice or mercy or love, I will do so in your sweet name._

_Dearest lady, adieu._

_Lancelot_

* * *

_Dear Lancelot,_

_I received your letter a few weeks ago, and I want to thank you for it. It made me smile. I was surprised to hear you had gone to South Bend. My brother, Elyan, is often in that town. Have you chanced to meet him?_

_It is evening, and it is growing late. I had been expecting a visit from a friend, but alas, my friend did not appear, and I am left feeling quite lonely. I hope you will forgive me for consoling myself by writing to you._

_Thank you for explaining why you left. I was sad, but I understand why you felt it had to be. I only wish things could have been different._

_I am finding that, as you said, some things cannot be. Perhaps many things cannot be. Why must people so often let each other down and break each other's hearts? People for whom we care forget us or leave us or die or are killed or make dreadful choices. Sometimes, and perhaps especially tonight, I wonder how we are to bear it._

_I felt glad when I got your letter, and I felt glad tonight as I read it again. I am thankful to know that you are somewhere in this world, and that you are filled with good intentions. I am glad to think that there are people who will know you, even if I can't be one of them. I like to imagine you drying old women's tears and making children laugh. Is that a bit ridiculous? When I face injustice and faithlessness, I find that thoughts of you bolster my hope._

_Please forgive me for being so melancholy. I'm sure ere long it will pass. Thank you again for your dear letter. I am honored by your words, and am grateful for the short time we have shared._

_I will not forget you._

_Gwen_

* * *

_Dearest Gwen,_

_I received your letter just before I departed South Bend for Estlyn. I have accepted work there, helping the mayor of the town provide better defense for his people. The pay isn't much, but it is a chance to do some good - something that will matter. I hope this news will please you._

_My angel, it breaks my heart to think you have been sad. You asked me why people bring such hurt to each other. I wish I had an answer that would comfort you. I think sometimes it cannot be helped. We blunder through our days with good intentions, but we are capable of great folly. Humility and selflessness seem our only salvation, but I see that my own tendency is to forsake them both. Why is it that as soon as we recognize the first trace of our own humility, it is already lost?_

_My heart is still yours, although I assure you my devotion is without expectation. You are the North Star, and I thank heaven for you._

_Please Gwen, tell me honestly, does it trouble you when I confess that all my days I will love you from afar? Perhaps I should not speak of these things. You can silence me with a word. It is your wisdom and strength that must guide us._

_I am your devoted servant._

_Lancelot_

* * *

_Dear Lancelot,_

_I received your letter some time ago, but I have only just found opportunity to respond properly. I'm sure you have heard something of the enchantment which took Lady Morgana from us, as well as the dragon which besieged Camelot. Please be assured that I am well enough after all of it, and better off than many. Everyone here has borne such heartache lately, it is difficult to describe._

_I want to thank you for the words you wrote. I am honored by your devotion, although I do not feel I am worthy of it._

_You asked if I am troubled by your love. My answer is no – how can I be troubled? The words you wrote made me feel wonderful. Thank you._

_My concern, though, is for you. You placed me in Arthur's hands, and I do care for him. We have no understanding – how could we? But as you love me unselfishly, I try to be unselfish toward him. I know I can at least be a help to him. I know well that love from afar can lift the heart. This I learned from you._

_I ask myself, what harm there can be in your love? I can think of none, except that I do not want you to carry a burden, or to be always alone. I hope that when love finds you, you will open your heart to it._

_And now, dearest friend, I hope that my words have not troubled you._

_Gwen_

* * *

_Dearest Gwen,_

_Thank you for your letter._

_The news from Camelot has disturbed me to my soul. King Uther condemned but then later pardoned you? I have been told that you are well now, and I trust it is so. Still, the king is a dangerous man. If you feel unsafe now or at any time in the future, send me word and I will come for you instantly._

_I am well, and my time here has been good. The fortification work we started in Estlyn has been taken up by other local leaders. Families in these towns are safer than ever before. I know you will be pleased when I tell you honestly that I have wiped away a number of tears and have even made a child or two laugh._

_I am honored to be called your friend._

_Lancelot_

* * *

_Dear Lancelot,_

_I hope this letter finds you swiftly. We desperately need your help. Morgause and Morgana have seized power and Arthur has had to flee for his life. I appeal to you to come with all haste to his aid. Have care, for Morgause' army is enchanted and none can be slain. Please let no harm come to you, my faithful friend._

_I know you will do all you can._

_Gwen_


	8. Chapter 8

To the casual observer, Elaine seemed fine. But Eilonwy and even Guinevere knew better. The girl sat day after day weaving, but she sang no more. And the cloth in her loom grew tangled and strange. She was too quiet, and her pale face seemed a bit too pale.

"Genevieve," said Eilonwy to Gwen, her face full of worry, "take her walking. Do it now. Do it often. She needs air. She needs sun. Work can wait." It took persuasion, but Gwen was able. So the girls went walking at least once every day.

Gwen had said almost nothing since she'd come to Estlyn. And since Eilonwy had delivered the devastating truth (which had inevitably found its way from Camelot), Gwen had said even less. It frightened her that fate had brought her to this town and to this very house. Surely there was a reason. Gwen was here witnessing firsthand the destruction she had helped to bring upon this innocent girl, and she knew of no way to make restitution.

If she had not written letters to Lancelot, what might have happened then, to all of them? Would he have forgotten her? Would he have stayed in Estlyn and lived and grown old? Would he have married Elaine?

If she had not written letters to Lancelot, perhaps she would now be Arthur's wife.

If she had not written letters to Lancelot, perhaps Arthur would be dead, and Morgana would be ruling Camelot, and perhaps she herself would be dead too. Perhaps.

Regret over Elaine brought Gwen to be newly honest with herself. Her letters had never been sent for Lancelot's sake, but for her own. His love had lifted her heart in times of loneliness, and she had wanted, at times, to bask in his adoration. She'd seen no harm in it then - surely he would be glad to hear from her. Even her last letter had been written selfishly - in the hopes that Lancelot would help save her beloved Arthur. The naked truth was terrible: she had always used Lancelot's affection for her own gain. In this, she had been unkind to him. In this, she had utterly failed him.

And then she had sent Lancelot to his death. She'd known then, in her heart, hadn't she? She'd known that his sacrifice for Arthur was really for her. That was what had broken her heart. She knew she'd taken far too much from him. She'd taken his life.

And now the nightmare of his return and of her betrayal of Arthur and of her banishment had come. Perhaps these things had not been without a long-grown beginning.

Elaine was crumbling daily before Gwen's eyes. Would there be no end to these wrongs wrought by selfishness?

"God forgive me," thought Gwen as she walked through the glen with the girl. "Forgive me and save this girl. Bring the songs back into her heart. Bring back her hope. Let me never use another soul as I did her Lancelot. I'm so very, very sorry. I deserve my suffering, but not this girl. Somehow, let her be healed."

They sat to rest on a large rock set beside a stream. The air was chilly and the sky seemed to be growing heavy. Perhaps there would be rain in the night.

"I'll always love him," said Elaine. It startled Gwen to hear the girl speak after so much silence. "I can't stop. It's too late. I've loved him so long that there's no stopping. He'll be my only love, and when I die I'll look for him in Heaven."

What could Gwen say? She almost couldn't bear it. "Elaine, you are so beautiful. Your heart is so good. Your songs have lifted my heart. Come back to us, dear one. We need you. Please don't speak of dying. Come back to the living. Come back to life."

Elaine looked at Gwen in confusion, as if the words had made no sense at all. And Guinevere, in terror, could think of nothing more to say. All of her thoughts had turned into prayers.


	9. Chapter 9

It did rain.

It rained all night, and in the morning Elaine wandered into the kitchen with a high fever.

"Put her to bed now," commanded Eilonwy. Gwen left breakfast and obeyed.

When Elaine was settled, Gwen sat beside her on the edge of the cot. It had been over two weeks since Elaine had heard of Lancelot's death, and in all that time she'd hardly eaten. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her flushed face looked weak. Gwen could hardly bear to see it.

"I dreamed of him last night," murmured Elaine. "I dreamed I was home by the grey towers, and I laid down in a boat and floated down to Camelot, and he was there."

Guinevere's blood ran chill. The girl had been dreaming fondly of death.

After a few minutes Eilonwy arrived in the room carrying a tureen of steaming broth, which she set on the little bedside table. Gwen moved to a chair and allowed Eilonwy to sit beside Elaine.

"I want you to drink this broth," said Eilonwy rather firmly.

"Thank you," said Elaine faintly. "But I'm so tired. Can't I rest first?"

"No you can't," snapped the older woman. Guinevere jumped at the sharpness of her tone.

"Elaine," said Eilonwy, "you are dying, and you've got to stop it now. You are holding on to loving someone who is gone. He is gone, and he has been gone for a long time. You are holding on to something in your head so tight that it is killing you. If you don't let go you are going to die. I want you to stop it. You let him go! Do you hear me? You let him go."

Elaine looked at the older woman with wide, frightened eyes. And then a few tears squeezed out of them.

"No," whispered Elaine. "No. I don't want to stop loving him. I won't."

"You let him go," said Eilonwy again. "You make that choice. I know that you understand me. You make that choice, and you let him go, and you live. You belong in this world. You've work to do. You've songs to sing. You've children to bear. You make that choice. You are not meant to die for love."

Elaine turned her face away and wept.

"You let that go," said Eilonwy again. She gently ran her fingers through Elaine's beautiful hair. "Let it all go, child. It's time you learned to love yourself."


	10. Chapter 10

Elaine did not die. Her fever departed by evening. She ate all of the bread and and a heartier soup that Eilonwy provided. She was tearful and quiet, but she did all of the things necessary to recover. Within a few days she was again on her feet, and while she still looked a bit too pale, she looked better than she had in a long time.

Soon, on a breezy afternoon, Gwen and Elaine resumed their walks. As they climbed a gently sloping, tree-lined lane, Elaine began to speak. "I am letting him go, Genevieve. I have to let him go. It's not easy. It means letting go of some precious things in my heart."

Gwen didn't know exactly what Elaine meant. The girl seemed to sense this, though, and made an effort to be more clear in her meaning.

"One night, on a Midsummer's Eve, there was a dance in the village square. He was there, and the sight of him set my heart beating. All of the men were gathered around him. Everyone liked him by then. But he saw me sitting by myself and he left the others and asked me to dance. It was heavenly. He kept teasing me and trying to make me laugh. And when the dance ended he kissed my face, right here."

Elaine put a hand to her cheek. "I've felt that kiss on me ever since. I have to give that up now." She pulled her hand away from her cheek and then looked at her palm, as if she could now see Lancelot's kiss resting on her hand. Then, gently as she might release a butterfly, she seemed to release it into the sky.

Gwen's eyes blinked back unexpected tears.

"Once," said Elaine, "when he first came to Estlyn, he was having a good share of trouble. Many of the village men didn't like his new ideas, and they resisted what he was trying to do. He couldn't get the cooperation he needed to protect the town. He came to supper one night looking completely discouraged and tired. He really looked terribly lonely. So I sang a little song to cheer him. I didn't even know I loved him yet - so I wasn't too shy to sing just for him like that. He said to me, 'Elaine, are you mortal or angel?' And he smiled this beautiful smile. Maybe that was the beginning of me loving him." She sighed and put her hand on her heart. "I have to let that go."

Again, this strange girl raised her palm to the sky, as if to release a small winged creature.

"Do you think..." asked Elaine hesitantly, "Do you think I shall have to try to forget these things, or is it enough to let go and trust all to heaven?"

Somehow, Gwen kept her voice even. "Surely, letting go is enough. Are they not memories of kindness? Somehow, I think such memories are blessings."

"The meaning of them will be different now. Alas. I feel how it changes me."

Gwen put her arms around the girl for a moment, and then they walked arm in arm for a while.

A few days later, as Elaine sat at the loom and Gwen sat at her sewing, the girl broke a quiet morning reverie with a question. "How, exactly, does a person go about 'loving herself'? I am trying, but I don't understand what that can possibly mean."

"I fear I am just as perplexed as you," said Guinevere.

"When I think of what love is, I can only think of about a hundred different songs," said Elaine. "Can that be any use at all?"

Gwen giggled. "What a fun idea. Do tell me. What wisdom have you learned about love from songs?"

Elaine thought for a moment and then began to sing a rather charming melody with these words:

_Bonny lady, I do love thee. _

_Forever thou wilt see me true._

_Fear not what the fates shall bring us._

_I will always stand with you._

_Bonny lady, I do love thee._

_Human faults shan't drive me yon._

_I'll forgive thee and protect thee,_

_And provide from sun to sun._

The effect of the song was sweet, and Gwen was touched, "Oh Elaine, that is lovely."

Elaine looked very thoughtful. "Do you think," she queried, "we could ever love ourselves like that?"

"What do you mean?" asked Gwen.

The girl sang again, but changed the lyrics slightly, incorporating a version of her own name:

_Bonny 'Lain-ey, I do love thee._

_Forever thou wilt see me true._

_Fear not what the fates shall bring us._

_I will always stand with you._

_Bonny 'Lain-ey, I do love thee._

_Human faults shan't drive me yon._

_I'll forgive thee and protect thee,_

_And provide from sun to sun._

Gwen giggled again, and Elaine giggled a little too. "I can't explain it," said the girl, "but it feels lovely to sing that to myself. It's like a lullaby song. It lifts my heart."

Guinevere thought about that. Something in Elaine's words made her think of the night Daniel sang with his horses.

Elaine went on thinking aloud. "I wonder if a person could do that."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Could a person somehow step outside of herself and make a promise to herself that she intends to keep?" At Gwen's perplexed look, the girl continued. "For example, what is it that you would wish most to hear your lover say?"

Gwen's heart answered without hesitation, but she did not speak the words out loud. _I will always love you. I forgive you._ (Arthur had sworn part of that to her once, but perhaps it was all quite impossible now.)

"Might a person tell herself those very things?"

Gwen couldn't answer, but sat pondering this question while Elaine hummed the tune awhile.

"Try singing it, Genevieve," Elaine coaxed suddenly. "I'll help you. Let's say 'Bonny Jenny' instead of Genevieve, so it fits."

The girls laughed a bit as they sang, but Elaine was right. Silly as they perhaps were being, it was surprisingly sweet to sing such words to oneself.

Elaine was still thoughtful. "Lovers are always promising faithfulness, and as they do, it makes them happy. But I suppose much depends on the keeping of those promises. So if I'm going to sing those words to myself and enjoy the feeling of them, I should mean them. They're lovely promises. I could promise myself those things."

Gwen thought about this, and marveled again at the unusual, sweet girl who sat at the loom beside her.

"I'm going to try," said Elaine.


	11. Chapter 11

The peace that Gwen felt while living in Eilonwy's household was nourishing, but it was not to last.

One Sunday, as Gwen and Elaine sat in the town square to chat with passing friends, a pair of Camelot knights rode into Estlyn.

In an instant Gwen's sense of security vanished. She was still within Arthur's lands. Her presence in the town could be viewed as a violation of the edict of her exile. She knew that the letter of the law proclaimed that the banished were to leave the lands of the king. While she had put great distance between herself and Arthur, she had not yet complied completely with his order. She never imagined that Arthur might learn of her sojourn here, but the knights' appearance proved this a real possibility.

As the knights rode nearer, Gwen nonchalantly pulled her shawl over her head and casually hid her face. She recognized the pair. They were younger men, some of the newer knights whom Arthur had acquired over the past year or two. She wasn't certain of their names. They were likely on assignment to carry a message from the court, or to collect information about something or other.

Suddenly, Guinevere realized that, while her time in Estlyn had surely been a blessing of fate, she could not remain here indefinitely. The knowledge made her suddenly very sad.

Still, looking at Elaine, who was laughing blithely with her young friends, Gwen felt fiercely protective. The girl was doing well. The truth of Gwen's identity might be a horrible shock to the girl. Gwen would not let this happen. It was time for her to go.

That evening Gwen had a private talk with Eilonwy. She thought it best not to reveal too much, even to this wise and compassionate lady. But Gwen suspected that Eilonwy had already surmised more than she let on. Gwen thanked the lady quite profusely for her kindness and generosity, and then explained that the time had come for her to continue west.

"So I will need to go," said Gwen.

"You mustn't travel alone," said Eilonwy. "The roads can be dangerous for a young woman."

"I agree," said Gwen. "It would be easier to go alone, but not wise. And Elaine would be horrified if I put myself in danger after all of our talk about being good to ourselves."

Eilonwy's smile intensified the merry wrinkles beside her eyes.

"I'll have to find someone I can travel with."

A few days later, Eilonwy informed Gwen that a certain trader had arrived from the western border town of Cameron. He was well-known to Eilonwy and trustworthy. When he finished his business in Estlyn he would be returning to Cameron, and he was willing to escort Gwen along the way.

"It would be appropriate to pay him," said Eilonwy. Gwen agreed. She had been saving her wages, and while it hurt to spend money in such uncertainty, she knew it was the proper way of handling the situation.

It was all arranged.

Gwen asked Elaine to walk with her, and as they walked she explained that she would be departing. She kept her reasons vague, but Elaine, accustomed to Gwen's reticence, accepted that not all would be explained.

"Oh, I shall miss you!" exclaimed the girl. "You've been as a sister to me. You've been so patient with all my tears - listening - always listening. What shall I do when you are gone?"

"I shall miss you terribly," said Gwen. "I will always thank heaven that we could work and walk together for a season."

And far too soon, on a cold, crisp morning, Elaine and Eilonwy walked with Guinevere to the square for the last time. After kisses, hugs and a tearful farewell, Gwen climbed into a sturdy trader's wagon and waved goodbye.

The road opened up again before her. The future called her westward. All was uncertain, but she felt brave, and a sweet melody played itself in her mind.

_Bonny Jenny, I do love thee. _

_Forever thou wilt see me true._

_Fear not what the fates shall bring us._

_I will always stand with you._


	12. Chapter 12

The village of Cameron was not an especially welcoming place. Its buildings looked shabby and run-down, and so looked its inhabitants. Smiles there didn't appear easily in people's faces. Distrust seemed to be the rule. Payments were expected up front. Goods were never left out of sight. Appraisals of commodities and of people were thorough, scrupulous, and seldom flattering. It was not a kindly place.

On the cold evening when the trader delivered her to the inn at Cameron, Guinevere's heart pounded. She'd stood looking about her on the street for a moment, and spoke silent words of assurance to herself. _I'm going to take good care of you, Guinevere. Don't be afraid._

She'd paid for a room to in which to stay for the first few nights, and spent her days searching hard for a place to work and live. It was unsettling, knowing that her money was limited, and that she needed to find a position soon. She'd been tempted to save her money and camp in the woods, but she knew that risking her personal safety (bandits were a danger anywhere) would not be a responsible nor kind choice toward herself. She felt worry in her belly about survival, but always she spoke to herself reassuringly.

At last she found work on a farm outside the village. She was allowed to sleep in a corner of the barn that had been made over for hired help. It boasted a fireplace to fend off the worst of the cold, and stalls were allotted for private sleeping areas. She shared this odd human corner of the barn with three other workers (two women and an old man).

After scouring the town for work, she knew she was lucky to have a place anywhere, and she chose to be grateful. Her duties were not easy, but she took pride in doing them well. She managed the hens, the sheep and the pigs. It was messy, smelly work, but it was work. It gave her time to think.

Gwen's thoughts always turned, inevitably, to Arthur. She missed him. She wished irrationally for a way to atone for the pain she had brought to them both - to have a final encounter with him that reflected their years of love rather than their endgame of despair. She knew reconciliation was impossible, but she wished for it anyway. Her heart, completely independent of her mind, would not be brought to sense.

Guinevere survived the bleakness of Cameron by speaking consolingly to herself. Her sojourn there was a difficult one, but it was not an especially long one. After scarcely over three weeks of work on the farm, raiders took the entire town. Many of the unfortunate villagers were killed or scattered, but Gwen's fate was different.

She was taken captive by a man called Helios.


	13. Chapter 13

It felt nice to dress up again. It felt nice to again be treated as a princess.

Helios' ruthlessness was not as huge a problem for Guinevere as perhaps it might have been. The man clearly had an appetite for women, but the servants in his compound assured her that she was safe enough - Helios never took from women anything that was not offered freely. Gwen had indeed spent most of her life in the service of another ruthless man. She understood pragmatically enough that men fought over land and goods and vassals. She understood that men frequently deemed violence necessary, and that few of the ones involved in such fighting were completely good or bad. She had begun to understand that life was complicated, and because of this, she considered Helios. She considered the man with her eyes wide open.

When Helios appeared to ask her to dine with him, he was very charming. He was attractive. He was frightening in a way that she had to admit excited her a little. He appreciated her on at least some level, and this was endearing, even if she did not trust him.

She was alone. She was homeless. She was in need. And this man was offering her something. He was attempting a sort of negotiation with her. What would she give to him? What might he give to her?

She wasn't sure what he wanted from her, and she decided to be bold and ask him. She did this before consenting to more than this one casual conversation. "Why is it that you wish to spend your time with me?" she asked.

Helios seemed taken aback by her question, but his answer was fearlessly direct. "When I encountered you for the first time I saw something in your face that surprised me. I could see that you are a strong person with a great heart, and I wanted to know you better."

Guinevere was surprised by how much his answer pleased her. She sensed that he was speaking the truth, at least from his own point of view. She knew full well that he likely hoped to know her in more than an intellectual sense. While she doubted that circumstances would become right for her to allow such a thing, she appreciated his honesty. He'd made his intentions to woo her quite clear. He'd confidently offered her no subterfuge. She found that she respected him for this.

Could a person know that much about her merely by looking at her face? The thought amazed her. Something in her heart sang that these words of Helios were true. He could see something great in her with only a glance. His verbal reflection made her feel quite beautiful.

What was her future? She did not know. But she needed to find it. So Gwen agreed to share a meal with this powerful man. She would learn more about the kind of future he might offer to her.

Her acceptance of his invitation seemed to please him. He prepared to take his leave, but before turning to depart he suddenly placed his hands around her waist, pulled her toward him, and kissed her full on the mouth.

Gwen hadn't expected this sudden contact. Had he not surprised her, she likely would not have consented. But his arms were strong, and she liked that. His smell of leather and spice was honestly intoxicating. She found herself suddenly filled with fire.

When he let her go she abruptly felt the need to hide her blush. It made him smile. "Tonight, then," he said. And he was gone.


End file.
